put the knife right in my back (killing any history we had)
by shineyma
Summary: Six ways Jemma Simmons and Grant Ward might meet again (and one way they might not have needed to).
1. Turning Point

A/N: Apparently the prospect of Jemma and Ward sharing screentime again was just too much for my muse; I've been writing 2x18-related drabbles like it's going out of style for the past week. So today you get seven drabbles of varying lengths and degrees of shippiness.

**The first five chapters of this are just reposts of what I've already put on tumblr; the last two will be new.** So if you follow me on tumblr, feel free to skip to chapter six.

Title is from Daughtry's _Traitor_. Thanks for reading and, as always, please be gentle if you review!

* * *

Jemma doesn't speak during the meeting—or debate, rather. Through all of the shouting, insults, and threats, through May and Fitz storming out in opposite directions, and even through the eventual compromises, she keeps her mouth firmly shut. She is, by her own choice, a mere observer.

Until, that is, the very end, when Bobbi turns to her and asks, "Well? What do you think, Simmons?"

Suddenly, the eyes of the whole room are upon her. Coulson's face is expectant; presumably, he anticipates her support, which has been unwavering for months. She went into HYDRA on his order, kept secrets from _everyone_, even Fitz. Why should he expect this moment to be different?

The fact that he actually doesn't know is just more evidence of how far gone he really is. She lifts her chin and meets his eyes squarely.

"I think you should have shot them both," she tells Bobbi, without breaking eye contact with Coulson.

He looks betrayed. Beside him, Ward looks amused.

"That hurts, Simmons," he says. "Now, what did I ever do to you?"

That's it.

She turns to Bobbi. "Give me your gun."

"Simmons," Coulson says, voice sharp. "That's enough." He takes a few steps towards her, softening his tone. "Look, I know this isn't ideal—"

"Ideal?" she demands. "Isn't—" She scoffs, shaking her head. "I _trusted_ you! All the things Bobbi and Mack and-and _Gonzales_ have been saying about you, I've _insisted_ that there must be a reasonable explanation. And after all of that, you show up here with _him_?"

"Wow," Agent 33—Kara—says in an undertone to Ward. "She really doesn't like you."

"Yeah," Ward agrees. "I don't know what's up with that."

"You nearly _killed_ me!"

"I saved your life," he counters.

"And I saved _yours_," she snaps. "Three times." She turns to Coulson. "On _your_ orders, if you'll recall. Because I trusted you." She takes a deep breath. "Because I trusted you, I repeatedly saved the life of a man who had tried to kill me only weeks before."

"And I know that was hard for you," Coulson starts.

She turns away from him, back to Ward. "Do you know, that first time, they hadn't even let Fitz out of the infirmary yet? I was called out of his room in the middle of the night to save the life of the man who put him there. And I did it."

"And I'm grateful," Ward says, quietly sincere. "I was in a bad place, then. But I'm better now. I want to help you."

"No, you don't," she scoffs, and looks to Coulson once more. "And with all due respect, sir, if you _believe_ that he does, there might actually be something to Gonzales' claim that you've been compromised. This is insane."

Coulson looks incredibly displeased by her words, but he makes an attempt at a patient tone.

"Simmons, I understand where you're coming from. I really do. But desperate times call for desperate measures."

She's heard those words before.

"That's what you said when you sent me into HYDRA," she reminds him.

"Wait, what?" Ward asks.

His gobsmacked expression is, admittedly, incredibly satisfying, but Jemma and Coulson ignore him.

"It is," Coulson admits. "But times are getting increasingly desperate."

"As are your methods," she says. "It's a slippery slope you're on, sir, and I'm sorry, but I'm simply not willing to follow it any further."

Just last week, she would have said she would follow Coulson to the death. But the evidence against him has been piling up, and this is simply the last straw. That he could bring Ward—_Ward_, of all people—in as back up, that he would turn to their team's own personal boogeyman for assistance in a time of need…

Jemma has honestly lost count of how many times she's been betrayed in the past year. She's reached the end of her rope.

"Jemma," Coulson starts, and she shakes her head.

"I'm sorry it had to come to this, sir. But my decision is final." She gives Bobbi a nod. "I've chosen my side, and it's not yours. It seems the other SHIELD had the right of it, after all."

"The _what_?"

Ward's clear confusion is gratifying, but it's Bobbi's hand, warm and sympathetic on her shoulder, that gives her the strength to continue.

"When Ward betrays you again—as you must know he will—and leaves you in the lurch, please do call me. I'll do what I can to help you. Until then, however." She takes a deep breath. "I believe we're finished here."

That said, she turns on her heel and leaves, following the same path May took nearly an hour ago.

Her heart is heavy in her chest, but for the first time in weeks, she doesn't feel conflicted at all. It's a hollow sort of victory.


	2. Never take your eye off your opponent

A/N: incandescentlysilver asked: ""Rule never one: never take your off your opponent." + biospecialist"

* * *

Working with the team again goes just about the way Grant expected it to.

They're all unhappy with his presence—even Coulson, despite being the one who drew him into this in the first place—and said unhappiness manifests itself in pretty predictable ways.

May, who was very vocal about how bad of an idea she thinks this is, keeps a suspicious eye on him at all times. Fitz is trying to ignore him with mixed success; when he fails, there's usually a minor outburst, which is why one of the new ones—Hunter—is sticking close to him, trying to keep him calm.

Grant honestly couldn't care less about the team's new additions (except as possible threats, but he's already got their measures), and Skye's not here.

Which just leaves Simmons.

She's ignoring him, too, and with much more success than Fitz. She hasn't looked at him once; even during the debate back at the base, when she argued against his inclusion in the op, she addressed every remark to Coulson. And when Grant spoke, she acted like she couldn't hear him.

It's exactly what he expected going in. What he _didn't_ expect is for it to annoy him so much.

The last time he saw Simmons, she threatened to kill him. She was furious and, though she did a decent job of hiding it, scared. The time before that, he was dropping her out of the Bus. She was terrified.

The time before _that_, she was patching him up and telling him to give his body time to heal. She was worried, eyes gone soft and sad, and there was a hell of a lot of emotion packed into her _please_.

He enjoyed her worrying over him. Her fear was less fun, but it was still something. This—blanking him out, pretending he's not even in the room, like she can't see him even when he's _literally_ standing right next to her—pisses him off.

But that's okay. He knows something she doesn't.

The op goes south, because it's one of Coulson's plans, so of _course_ it does. They get made halfway through the door and, in the hail of gunfire that follows and subsequent confusion, he and Simmons get separated from the rest of the team.

(It's enough to make him glad that Kara didn't want to be involved in this op. He didn't like leaving her alone in SHIELD, but she refused, point blank, to set foot in HYDRA again. She's safely back at the base they call the Playground, far away from this clusterfuck. It's a relief.)

Simmons might hate him, but she's not stupid; she lets him get her out of there and a safe distance away without a fuss. But as soon as he pulls her into an alley to catch their breath, she starts blanking him out again.

"Don't suppose you managed to hold on to your comm," he says.

She ignores him, eyes locked firmly on the street at the end of the alley, but the fact that she's not making any move to contact the rest of the team suggests that the answer is no.

"Yeah," he sighs. "Me neither."

He got grazed in the fray; nothing serious, but his arm's still bleeding. He presses his hand against it and, because there's no point in stoicism, doesn't bother to hold back a hiss at the white-hot pain the pressure sparks.

Simmons' eyes flicker towards him and then away again.

"What about your phone?" he asks. "You bring it?"

No response, which he'll take as a no.

"Hidden tracker?" he suggests. "Smoke signals? Psychic connection to Fitz?"

She sighs heavily and pointedly turns her back to him. It's the confirmation he was hoping for: she's got no way of reaching the team. He does—his phone made it through intact—but he'll give it a minute. There's something he needs to take care of, first.

Simmons startles when he grabs her, but whatever half-hearted training she's been given in the last year is no match for his, and he backs her against the wall without any trouble at all. (Though not without pain; she claws at his arms and actually _bites_ the hand he has over her mouth—hard enough to break the skin, even, which is impressively vicious of her.)

"Rule number one," he says. "Never take your eye off your opponent."

Whatever she has to say in response to that is muffled by his hand, but the look in her eyes speaks volumes—mostly about exactly how much violence she'd like to inflict on him right now, but there's also a hint of _I knew it_.

"Yeah," he confirms. "You were right. We're definitely not on the same side." He smiles down at her, and maybe it's petty of him, but he really enjoys the way it makes her go still. "Yet."

She makes another futile attempt to shove him away, and even though he's perfectly capable of immobilizing her completely, he lets her exhaust herself trying. Partly because it's honestly kind of endearing (seriously, she's gotta know she's got no chance of getting away, but here she is, trying it anyway; he always did like her optimism), and partly because it means that when he finally gets to the point, there's not much fight left in her.

"Take a deep breath," he orders evenly. Simmons' eyes go wide, and she shoves weakly against him. "Calm your mind. You know what is best. What is best is you comply."

He can actually _see_ the fight leeching out of her, the anger in her eyes dimming. Her struggling slows and then stops; her hands fist in his shirt and stay there.

It's…actually kind of creepy.

"Compliance will be rewarded," he says. "Are you ready to comply?"

He removes his hand from her mouth cautiously—they're on a time limit, here, and if she screams and draws a crowd they'll definitely go over it—but there's no need.

"Yes," she answers brightly. "I'm happy to comply."

He searches her face, but there's no sign of deception. Just weirdly blank happiness.

Bakshi's intel paid off after all. It's a surprise, but a good one.

"Good," he says, and lets go of her. "First things first, do you have any medical supplies?"

Her eyes lock on his arm, and the blank happiness on her face is replaced by equally blank worry.

"You're injured," she says unhappily. "May I fix it?"

"Yeah," he says. "Do that."

Watching her fuss over his arm is…interesting. Her words and expression are familiar from his months on the Bus, from the hundreds of times she patched him up after missions gone wrong, but there's something weird about it. It's like she's very slightly off-key; very close to normal, but still distinctly not right.

"It needs stitches," she tells him, seriously, as she tapes a square of gauze over the butterfly bandages she's already applied. "But I don't have a suture kit. So this will have to do until we make it back to the Playground. Please take care."

"I will," he promises, amused by her earnest worry. "Are you done?"

"Yes," she says, returning her first-aid kit to her pack. "What's next?"

"Next," he says, "We're gonna rendezvous with the others. You're gonna act like nothing's changed—like you can't stand the sight of me. Can you do that?"

She looks distressed by the order, but nods resolutely. "Yes. I can do it."

"Good," he says. "You wait 'til we get back to the Playground. Coulson's gonna spend a few hours arguing with May about whether or not the op going wrong was my fault. If they ask, you just say that you trust Coulson's judgment, but you don't trust me. Understood?"

"Understood," she confirms.

"After a few hours, Coulson'll call it a night, decide to regroup in the morning," he continues. "When that happens, you come find me. If you can't find me, find Kara. We'll get you out of there, back to our base. Okay?"

"Okay," she echoes.

Compliance is creepy. He didn't mind it so much on Bakshi, but on Simmons? There is such a thing as being _too_ agreeable, and he doesn't like it. He'll have to see if he and Kara can tweak her programming.

But that's for later.

"Okay," he repeats. "Come on. And remember, you're ignoring me."

"Yes," she says. "I'm happy to comply."

And sure enough, she looks pointedly away from him as he tugs his phone out of his pocket. She doesn't move away, however; she sticks right by his side as he leads her out of the alley, close enough that her shoulder brushes his while they walk, and it takes a lot of effort to keep the satisfaction out of his voice when Coulson answers his phone.

Coulson's plan might have gone FUBAR, but Grant's is proceeding right on schedule.


	3. Tac Gear

A/N: anonymous said: "I know it in my heart that the Ward in our biospecialist verses is ridiculously turned on by Jemma in tac gear, I will fight people on this."

* * *

May's reaction to learning that Coulson has called Grant in is pretty predictable.

Simmons'…is not.

Coulson opens with, "Times are desperate and we needed back-up. So I called in Ward."

"So I see," Simmons says calmly. "What's the plan, sir?"

There's a long and distinctly startled pause. Grant's not the only one caught off guard; Coulson, who May actually punched in the face at this point in _her_ version of this conversation, actually does a double take.

But it's Fitz who ends up _voicing_ his surprise.

"That's it?" he demands.

"What's it?" Simmons asks, frowning.

"All you've got to say is _so I see_?" His voice cracks. "Ward _betrayed_ us!"

"Oh, who _hasn't_?" she says, throwing her hands in the air. "Literally every person in this room save Hunter has betrayed me at one point or another. If I were holding grudges I'd have quit and joined the private sector ages ago."

…Interesting.

Grant would attribute that to hyperbole, except everyone in the room is suddenly looking pretty shifty. The blonde—Morse—opens her mouth like she's about to speak, then closes it. May is blank-faced, but there's something guilty about the set of her shoulders. Even Fitz is visibly uncomfortable; he subsides into silence and looks pointedly away.

Coulson coughs. "Yeah. Well."

"That's not to say I won't kill you if you make one wrong move," Simmons informs Grant pleasantly. "It's just that, for the moment, I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt."

"Understood," he says, not bothering to hold back his grin. He's always liked Simmons; she's so…blunt. "And thank you."

"You're welcome," she says graciously, and turns an expectant look on Coulson. "Well? The plan, sir?"

The plan involves all of them, Simmons included, suiting up and taking the fight to HYDRA. Grant's amusement at her easy acceptance lasts right up to the point that she enters the hangar in tac gear, at which point amusement very suddenly turns to lust.

If you'd asked him before, he would have said that Simmons in tac gear would probably look like a kid playing dress up. She's too sweet, too _harmless_, to be anything other than ridiculous when dressed for combat. Now, however…

Suited up, hair tied back, and a pistol strapped to her thigh, Simmons doesn't look ridiculous. She looks _dangerous_. It honestly might just be the hottest thing he's ever seen.

He may need to reassess his plans for this op.

Suddenly, he's feeling the need to maintain a connection to the team past the point of achieving his objective.


	4. You lied to me! I'm impressed

A/N: anonymous asked: ""You lied to me! I'm impressed." - Biospecialist please"

* * *

Jemma is shopping when she gets the call, which is probably to be expected, statistically speaking.

She's spent a lot of time shopping, lately.

The thing about brainwashing is that before you can brainwash a person, you have to break them. They've erased every last bit of Kara's programming, but they can't unbreak her. She's still fractured around the edges, missing pieces and memories that might never come back. She's come a long way from the frightened, aimless woman from San Juan, but she's not whole.

There's not much they can do about it, unfortunately.

But there are _some _things they can do, and Jemma has taken on the job of helping Kara rediscover herself. One of Kara's most recent conversations with her mother—who knows only that she was recently badly injured and is suffering some memory loss as a result—contained the tidbit that she enjoys cooking; something which is fortuitous, as Jemma, too, enjoys cooking.

So they've started cooking together. For bonding purposes _and_ because it's more fun when you've someone to cook with you. Every single meal they've eaten in the last three weeks has been homemade, from appetizer to dessert.

Which is why Jemma is food shopping when she gets the call. (Food shopping alone; Kara likes preparing food but not, they've discovered, actually purchasing it. The one time she brought Kara along, she spent the whole time whining. It was very childish and would have been annoying if Jemma weren't so delighted to hear Kara express an opinion of her very own—and unprompted, at that.)

"Hello, darling," she greets cheerfully, balancing her phone awkwardly between her shoulder and her ear as she adds potatoes to her basket. "I'm nearly finished here; have you completed your errands, yet?"

"There's been a change of plans," Grant says, voice grim. "Coulson's in town. He's got Kara."

"He's _what_?"

"Holding Kara hostage," he says. "Apparently he wants to talk to me."

Jemma inhales slowly, searching for calm. "And he thought threatening poor Kara was the best way to make that happen?"

_Really_. As though she hasn't suffered enough!

"Guess so." Grant's tone is flippant, but she can tell he's just as angry as she is. "How do you want to play this?"

She appreciates that he's asking, even as it worries her. It wasn't so long ago that he would have simply _told_ her what her role in this farce would be, given her orders like she was his subordinate instead of his girlfriend—and though she would have been extremely aggravated by it, she would have followed his orders, because situations likely to devolve into violence were _his_ area of expertise, not hers.

But things are different now. His time spent imprisoned changed him, even as her time spent alone changed her. He's a little less demanding, a little more solicitous, and while she doesn't _hate_ his acknowledgment that she's capable of handling herself…well.

She _does_ hate the mark the last year has left on him—nearly as much as she hates the mark it's left on _her_.

"I think it's time we gave the Director something else to think about," she decides, handing her basket off to a random passerby (who accepts it with some bemusement) and heading for the exit. "Unless you've any objections?"

"No," he says, after a moment. "Just be careful. He's got Kara at the restaurant; I'm about twenty minutes out."

"We'll be here," she promises. "Whole and unharmed. Unless he's done anything to hurt Kara, in which case I simply can't make any promises."

"Understood," he says, and she can hear a smile in his voice. "See you soon."

"Soon," she agrees, and rings off.

The restaurant whose phone Kara uses to contact her mother is only a street away from the market, and it's less than three minutes later that Jemma's walking in the door. She sees Kara immediately, seated at a table with Coulson—and Mike Peterson, of all people.

Well. That's unexpected.

So is her presence, if Coulson's reaction is any indication. She's wondered about that, in the past few months—whether the way she dropped off the grid immediately after leaving the Playground to 'visit her parents' might have raised any flags with him, whether he might suspect her true allegiance. It appears the answer is _no_.

The shock on his face is gratifying, truly, but he can wait. First, there's Kara to consider.

"Are you all right, darling?" Jemma asks. "They didn't hurt you, did they?"

"No," she says. "I'm fine. But you—"

"Ah," she interrupts, giving Kara a stern frown. "I do hope you're not about to suggest that we should have left you to SHIELD's tender mercies."

"You should have," Kara insists stubbornly.

Jemma isn't sure whether to shake her for being ridiculous or to hug her for actually _disagreeing_. She settles for another stern frown.

"We'll talk about this later," she says, and turns to the gaping Coulson. "For the moment, I suppose I should deal with _you_."

"Simmons," Coulson manages after a moment. "This is a surprise."

"Likewise," she says. "I rather thought the good guys were _above_ hostage-taking."

He sits back in his seat, looking suddenly very old. "You were never going to visit your parents, were you?"

"No," she agrees. "I'm afraid not."

"You lied to me," he says. "I'm impressed."

He's obviously attempting for the light-hearted banter he usually adopts with his enemies, but he falls rather short. She's shaken him badly. It's incredibly satisfying.

"Yes, the pretense of being a horrible liar did serve me well," she acknowledges. "But let's move past the betrayal portion of this conversation, shall we? In short, Grant and I have been together for several years, I left the Playground in anticipation of his inevitable escape, and we are both _very_ displeased that you've threatened Kara." She folds her arms. "I suppose you have a reason for that?"

"Ward sent you in here alone?" Coulson asks in lieu of an answer. "Instead of coming himself? He's a real prince, isn't he?"

"He's on his way," she says. "I was simply closer. And we didn't want to leave poor Kara alone with you any longer than necessary."

Coulson's jaw tenses, but he maintains a light tone. "She's not alone with me, as you can see."

"I can," she agrees, and gives Mike a long look. His face is blank, but his hands are fisted tightly at his sides. It would appear she's upset him. "It's funny. I was under the impression that you didn't know what had become of Agent Peterson."

It was something that distressed Skye greatly in the immediate aftermath of the disaster at Cybertek—that Mike had disappeared without a trace. When Jemma left the Playground, Skye was still attempting to track him down—_against_ Coulson's orders.

"Are you actually criticizing me for keeping secrets?" Coulson asks, incredulous.

Which is certainly fair.

"Not at all," she says innocently. "Merely stating a fact."

"Right, well," he stands suddenly, and Kara tenses in response. "We're gonna have words, Simmons. But for now, we've got more important concerns." He gives Mike a sharp nod. "Keep them both here. When Ward arrives, send him my way."

"Yes, sir."

Coulson turns sharply on his heel and heads towards one of the booths in the back.

"Are you going to tell me what this is about?" Jemma calls after him.

He doesn't answer. Jemma looks to Mike.

"Sit down," he orders her, indicating the chair next to Kara.

She sits without protest, reaching out to take Kara's hand.

"Are you sure you're all right?" she asks.

"I'm fine," Kara promises, clinging tightly to her hand. "But you really shouldn't have come. They want to make some kind of deal with Grant."

"Well," Jemma says, blinking. "That can't possibly be good."

"Yeah," Kara swallows. "That's what I thought." Her mouth twists unhappily. "And they didn't know you were with us. You gave away your advantage."

"I wouldn't be so sure," she muses, considering Coulson's relatively subdued reaction to her presence.

Chances are, he's assuming nefarious circumstances—brainwashing, coercion, something like that. And even if he's not, he's very clearly been thrown off-balance by the revelation of her loyalties. That will serve them well; it's difficult to come out on top of a deal with Grant on the best of days, and if Coulson is coming to _them_, of all people, this is clearly not the best of days.

She hasn't lost her advantage. She's added to Grant's. He'll be able to leverage Coulson's shock, she's certain of it.

"Don't worry, Kara," she says, squeezing her hand. "Everything is going to be just fine." She gives Kara her best reassuring smile. "Trust me."

"You know I do," Kara says. Her grip on Jemma's hand is just short of painful. "Just promise me you're not going to do anything stupid."

"Kara," she gasps, delighted. "Was that an insult you just implied?"

"No," Kara denies, although there's a pleased smile lurking at the corners of her mouth. She's very proud of her ability to be rude, as well she should be. "That was me reminding you that you're the brains of this operation." She gives Mike a sideways look. "You should leave the violence to Grant and me."

That's a direct quote from Grant, and it makes Jemma smile fondly. Of course he's indoctrinating Kara into his paranoia regarding Jemma's safety. She would expect nothing less. (And, to be fair, she's already instructed Kara on the importance of forcibly inspecting him for injury after every conflict.)

"I will," she promises. "However, I don't think it's going to be necessary."

Coulson has turned to Grant for help. Clearly, times are desperate.

The door opens, and Jemma settles back into her chair, satisfied. Grant will be cross at the threat to Kara—and at the implied threat to Jemma herself, seated as she is under Mike's watchful eye. And he is ever so delightfully vicious when he's cross.

Coulson has no idea just how desperate times are about to get for him.


	5. Patching Up

A/N: anonymous asked: "Apparently, I'm not done. Because what if -WHAT IF- not only does he say her name, BUT we also get a scene at some point in the remainder of this season where either one saves the either e.g. she patches him up or he drags her to the floor with him to dodge shots or whatever?"

* * *

Jemma is—well…

Jemma is exhausted, is what she is. Jemma is exhausted and Jemma is not built for holding grudges. She never has been.

She has to work at it, is the thing. She has to nurse her grudges, has to hold the anger close to her heart—keep the fire going with effort and attention, or it will sputter and die quickly.

(Before HYDRA revealed itself, the longest grudge she had ever held was against Fitz, during their rivalry at the Academy. And look how that turned out.)

Holding her grudge against Ward was easy, at first. When she was at the Playground, she could watch him every morning, see him in his dark cell and remember the cold, blank look on his face as he dropped her and Fitz to what should have been their deaths. It was easy at HYDRA, too; her thoughts were full of him there, of the bitterness that it should have been _his_ job—that were he not genuinely the enemy, it would have been him Coulson sent undercover. He was far more suited to the job than she.

Even after he escaped, it was easy. All she had to do was look at Skye—so shattered by her trauma, trying desperately to keep a brave face and mostly failing—and her anger filled her right up.

But then came San Juan, and they lost Trip. (He was in _fragments_.)

Then there were the techs—_her_ techs, _her _people—dead at Raina's hands.

Things were going downhill—Skye's changes, Fitz's determined anger, his _suspicion_ of Jemma, viewing her every attempt to help as more evidence that she would exterminate Skye given half the chance—and they didn't stop. She didn't have time to feed her anger against Ward; out of sight is out of mind, and he was far out of sight.

Then there was the next betrayal, and she was so busy trying to nurse _that_ grudge—trying to remain firm in the face of Bobbi's sad eyes and Mack's well-reasoned arguments and Agent Weaver's disappointment—that she entirely forgot about hating Ward.

She's still angry, of course—she's a long way from forgiving him—but it's banked, now. Enough so that she doesn't give more than a token protest against Coulson's insane plan…and when things go wrong, when the bullets start flying and he takes one to the shoulder, she automatically moves to look at it as soon as they reach shelter.

"Whoa," he says, catching her hands as she reaches for the collar of his shirt. "If you wanted to see me naked, Simmons, all you had to do was ask."

"I liked you better when you were shy," she informs him archly. "Now take your shirt off."

He grins, releasing her hands. "Your wish is my command."

Bobbi, the only other member of the team Jemma managed not to lose track of in the fray, frowns as Ward strips his shirt off.

"Simmons," she says. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" she asks, distractedly, as she cleans blood away from Ward's wound. The good news is that the bullet went through cleanly and Ward will thus not require surgery. (Actually, it's beyond good news—considering just how much permanent damage a bullet to the shoulder can cause, it's remarkable that his wound is relatively superficial. He really does have the devil's own luck, doesn't he?)

The bad news is that it went _through_, meaning he's bleeding both from an entry _and_ an exit wound. It's a miracle he made it all the way to this safehouse without losing consciousness.

"It looks like you're about to stitch Ward up," Bobbi says.

As she's just removed her suture kit from her pack, Jemma should think this goes rather without saying.

"I am. And your point?"

"He's the _enemy_," Bobbi says, incredulous.

Jemma rolls her eyes as she pulls on a pair of gloves. "So are _you_."

Bobbi's exasperated "I am _not_!" overlaps with Ward's curious "Really?" and Jemma ignores them both.

"Is the real you a moron about pain management as well?" she asks Ward. "Or will you accept a lidocaine injection?"

"I think moron's a little harsh," he muses. "But yeah, sure. Go ahead."

"Thank you," she says, and then rolls her eyes at herself. It's a good thing none of the others are here; no one would ever let her live down actually _thanking_ a man who tried to kill her for allowing her to spare him some pain.

Ward smiles. "You're welcome."

Bobbi makes a frustrated noise and spins on her heel as Jemma injects Ward.

"I'm going to try the others again," she announces, already marching out of the room. "Let me know if he tries anything and I'll kill him for you."

"Should I be insulted by that?" Ward wonders as the door slams behind Bobbi. "What exactly does she think I'm gonna try while you're sewing my shoulder closed?"

"Something horrid, I imagine," she answers, smoothing a bandage over the exit wound on the back of his shoulder. It's only a temporary fix, but it's better than leaving it untreated while she stitches the entry wound. "Sit still."

"Do _you_ think I'm gonna try something?" he asks curiously.

"I haven't ruled it out yet," she says.

Ward tips his head. "Fair enough."

She feels an odd sense of déjà vu as she begins stitching the entry wound; it's on the opposite shoulder, but the wound itself is placed very similarly to the sniper shot he took the day Raina kidnapped Coulson. That one she treated right there at the scene, at Ward's insistence; he refused to wait for the qualified medics SHIELD promised to send when May radioed for back-up.

Ward appears to be thinking along the same lines as she. "Just like old times."

She pauses, eyes fixed on her bloodstained gloves. The last time she treated him was after his third suicide attempt. Bobbi is pacing loudly in the other room. There's no Fitz hovering in her peripherals, disgusted by the blood but worried for Ward's well-being. She hasn't spoken to Skye in more than a week.

"This is nothing like old times," she says, and resumes her work.

"Maybe not," he admits. "But you didn't even think of ignoring it, did you?" He knocks his knee against her hip gently. "As soon as we were clear, you came straight for me." There's an odd tone to his voice, something she can't place at all—but then, he's always been difficult to read. "Patching me up's a long way from threatening to kill me."

"I might yet," she says, but it's an idle threat, and she's fairly certain he knows it. "This is just habit. Now _sit still_."

"Yes ma'am," he says, and subsides into silence.

It's a comfortable silence. She doesn't know what to do about that.


	6. Secret Weapon

Unexpectedly, Coulson's next move is to fly to New Jersey.

He keeps his mouth shut about why; his only explanation is an enigmatic, "Fitz isn't our _only_ back-up."

For his part, Grant's used to Coulson's little mysterious act, although he hasn't missed it at all. Kara, on the other hand, is not only not used to it, she obviously doesn't approve. The closer they get to New Jersey, the tenser she gets; when it becomes clear that they're headed straight for HYDRA's American Headquarters, he has to physically hold her knee still to keep her from bouncing it.

"What exactly are you planning?" Grant asks. "Because I gotta say, as far as plans go, walking in through HYDRA's front door is right up there with that op in Italy."

Fitz twitches at the mention—which, fair. That was the op that got Skye shot.

Coulson, however, maintains his serene smile. "We're not headed for HYDRA."

"Really," he says flatly, casting a pointed glance at the map. He can feel the tension radiating off of Kara, and it's starting to piss him off. "Are you saying someone _else_ has a secret organization headquartered in New Jersey?"

"You'll see," Coulson says. "We're almost there."

Grant—who, as the only person who actually knows how, is flying the Quinjet—follows Coulson's directions to land on the roof of a parking garage less than ten miles from HYDRA HQ, and for a minute, he thinks Kara is going to refuse to get out. Not that he can really blame her; if someone erased and rewrote _him_, he wouldn't be in a hurry to revisit the scene of the crime, either.

Except maybe to burn it down, but that's not really Kara's style.

"Come on," Coulson says. "It's not far."

Fitz and the new one—Hunter?—look just as lost as Grant feels, but they follow Coulson off of the Quinjet without complaint.

Grant stays where he is, next to Kara. "You gonna be okay? Not too late to bail."

"No," she says. "No, I can do this." She nods once, resolute. "We're taking these bastards down."

"That's the spirit," he says, and leans over to kiss her quickly. He angles his head to put them on eye level. "But I'm right here if you need me, okay?"

She smiles. "Okay."

"Today, Ward!" Coulson calls from outside, and he rolls his eyes exaggeratedly.

"You know, he's even more annoying when he's not actually my commanding officer," he muses, standing and offering Kara his hand.

She takes it with a grin. "I was just thinking the same thing."

They get some sideways looks from the others when they walk down the ramp hand-in-hand, which is a little insulting. Coulson literally based his entire play around the presumption that Grant would show up in response to a threat against Kara; why is he so shocked that Grant actually cares about her?

Honestly. You screw a guy over once—or, okay, maybe twice—and he never lets you forget it.

"We doing this or what?" he asks.

"Yeah," Coulson says slowly. "This way. It's just a few blocks."

Fitz gives Grant and Kara more than a few weirded out looks as they walk. Grant ignores it; he's not embarrassed.

He likes Kara. She can kick serious ass, which he appreciates, and she's got a wicked sense of humor when she's feeling comfortable. The problem, of course, is how often she's _uncomfortable_; Kara spends a lot of time feeling vulnerable and exposed—understandable, after what HYDRA did to her, and being held hostage by Coulson and Deathlok obviously hasn't helped. Especially since Coulson's threatened to do to Grant what HYDRA did to her.

He owes them for that.

He's playing along for now because it suits his purposes—_their_ purposes—but he is absolutely going to take every second of Kara's uncertainty out on Coulson when this is all over.

Those are thoughts for later, though.

_It_ turns out to be an apartment building. Once Grant orients himself—he didn't spend much time at HYDRA HQ during his brief second stint as a member, but he did, naturally, familiarize himself with the surrounding area—he realizes it's within walking distance of HYDRA. And it's not like he's got anything against being reckless, but this does kind of feel like tempting fate.

Coulson doesn't seem to feel the same. "Come on. Inside."

He leads the way into the building and up to the third floor, where he lets them into apartment 3C.

"Make yourselves at home," he invites, waving them in. "She should be here soon."

"She?" Hunter asks, casting a suspicious glare at the yellow walls. "Who's _she_?"

"Our secret weapon," Coulson says, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

"We have a secret weapon?" Fitz asks, a little skeptically.

Grant's pretty sure the answer to his earlier question (which sparked an unexpected but, frankly, hilariously violent outburst) is _better_. The last time he spoke to Fitz, the guy could barely get a word out. Clearly he's improved at least a little.

(Actually, now that he thinks about it, Fitz tried to kill him _then_, too. A pattern is developing here; Grant had better keep an eye on that.)

They hang around the apartment in awkward silence for nearly fifteen minutes before the sound of a key in the door brings them all to attention. Grant moves further back from the door, taking Kara with him, just in case this secret weapon of Coulson's is the shoot first type. He doesn't want any unfortunate accidents happening before Coulson can tell her that they're all on the same side.

There are footsteps, the sound of the door closing, and a pause.

Then Simmons rounds the corner from the entryway with a gun in hand, and everyone freezes.

Grant swallows.

He's seen Simmons with a gun before—well, ICER—but this is different. Her face is set, form perfect—she's both willing and able to shoot, should the need arise, and it's…surprisingly hot.

He takes a guilty glance at Kara—because for all that monogamy's kind of a new one for him, he really is doing his best—but she looks just as impressed as he feels. Apparently he's not the only one who thinks Simmons looks hot with a gun.

Something to keep in mind.

"Easy, Simmons," Coulson says. "It's just me."

"You really need to stop dropping in like this, sir," Simmons says. She doesn't lower the gun. "One of these days I'm really going to end up shooting you."

"Eh," Coulson shrugs. "It's a risk I'll have to take." He motions over his shoulder at the rest of them. "I brought company this time."

"Yes," she says. "I can see that."

Fitz, who's been frozen behind Hunter, takes a sudden, jerky step forward.

"Simmons?" he asks, sounding weirdly unsure of himself.

Simmons' eyes soften. She still doesn't lower the gun. "Hello, Fitz."

"What—what are you…" Fitz clenches his fists. "You've been—"

"Undercover," she supplies gently. "In HYDRA. Yes."

Okay. Grant…did not see that coming.

"You said you were going to visit your parents," Fitz says numbly.

"That was my fault," Coulson interjects. "Agent Simmons' assignment was classified at the highest levels. Only May and I knew about it."

The look Fitz gives him says _do you really think that makes it better_, but he subsides into silence anyway.

"So this is the famous Simmons," Hunter says, giving her a blatant once-over. "Former partner and best friend to our mate Fitz, here?"

Simmons' eyes tighten at the word _former_, but she nods. "Yes. And you are?"

"Lance Hunter," he says. "So, now that we all know each other, can I ask why you've not put down your gun?"

"That's a good point," Coulson acknowledges. "Simmons, we're all friends here."

"Oh, really?" Simmons asks. "Because it _looks_ like you've got Grant Ward standing behind you."

Coulson glances at Grant with a grimace. He waves.

"Right," Coulson says. "I can explain that."

"I'm all ears," Simmons says. She still hasn't put down the gun—in fact, it hasn't wavered once; it's been aimed directly at Grant this whole time—and she's looking hotter by the second.

Kara leans in and whispers, "You know it bothers me when people threaten you, right?"

"Yeah," he says. "Likewise." He looks down at her, takes in the way that, even though she's pressed right up against his side, her eyes haven't left Simmons. "I take it this time's an exception?"

"Yes," she says, guiltily.

"Don't worry," he tells her. "I'm right there with you."

It's not just the gun, either, although that's definitely a big part of it. If she doesn't know Hunter, then she must have been undercover since before Grant's escape, at least. The Simmons he knew couldn't tell a lie to save her life; that she's been able to last this long in HYDRA is beyond impressive. It also goes a long way to explain some of the problems Whitehall was having with his operations.

Grant likes people who can screw other people over. It's kind of a thing for him.

Meanwhile, Coulson's been giving Simmons a very quick summary of what's going on. She doesn't look impressed at all—when Coulson mentions sending Bakshi in, she says, "_Sir_," in such a hilariously disappointed tone that Grant has to cough to hide his laugh—but it's enough to get her to put the gun down.

"With all due respect, sir," Simmons says when he's finished. "You really should have come to me first."

"Probably," Coulson admits.

"But it's too late now," she continues, leaning back against the counter, "So, what's your plan?"

The plan is complex and ridiculous and, because it's Coulson, probably going to work thanks to some last-minute miracle. It also depends pretty much entirely on Simmons; the rest of them are just going to be playing back-up. Simmons accepts this at face value, but Fitz and Hunter don't, and—not unexpectedly—it quickly devolves into a debate.

Simmons leaves them to it and joins Grant and Kara in the corner.

"Hey, Simmons," he says. "Long time no see. I like your hair."

"Ward," she says, and gives him a surprisingly disdainful once-over. "You're looking remarkably less insane than the last time I saw you."

Well, that answers that question; he always wondered whether it was Simmons or Trip that patched him back up after his _suicide_ attempts.

"Fresh air agrees with me better than a cell does," he tells her.

"I'm sure." She gives him a blatantly fake smile, which slides into something kinder as she looks to Kara. "I'm sorry, I never caught your actual name—only your designation."

Kara straightens, delighted. "I'm Kara. It's nice to meet you."

"Jemma," Simmons says. "And the pleasure's mine. I wanted to say…" She casts a glance back at Coulson, Fitz, and Hunter. "Well, with everything that's happened, I don't imagine anyone's thanked you, yet."

"Thanked me?" Kara asks, frowning. She looks at Grant; he shrugs. "For what?"

"What happened to you was terrible," Simmons says, soft and sympathetic. He can see Kara melting in the face of Simmons' big, sincere eyes, and he doesn't blame her. Simmons with a gun is hot, but Simmons when she's doing her caring thing at a person is downright irresistible. "I can't imagine what it's like, being programmed like that—and it happened to you because you were SHIELD. So, thank you. For your service."

"Oh, um." Kara looks thrown. "You're welcome? I don't…really know what to say to that."

Simmons smiles. "You don't have to say anything. I just wanted to make sure it was conveyed—the Director is angry about the company you keep, but we do appreciate what you've suffered in the name of SHIELD."

"Thank you," Kara says, and darts a little glance at Grant.

He makes sure to keep his smile sincere; personally, he's pretty sure that Coulson hasn't spared a second thought to what Kara went through for him, but he appreciates the lie. Breaking Kara's brainwashing wasn't pretty, and he knows that it was even worse from the other end. It's about time she got some recognition for that.

"It was Grant who helped me through it," she adds earnestly.

A sour expression flickers over Simmons' face and is quickly replaced by a pained smile; Grant bites back a laugh.

"Yes, well." Simmons gives Grant a skeptical look. "I'm glad you had him, then."

He gives her a pleasant smile, and she frowns and looks away. The debate on the other side of the room is getting heated.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I really should do something about that before the neighbors call the police," she sighs.

"Go ahead," he says.

"Good luck," is Kara's contribution, and Simmons laughs as she walks away.

Kara leans into his side, warm and trusting but still on guard, and he wraps his arm around her shoulders. They watch the escalating debate in silence for a few seconds before she speaks.

"When this is over…"

He looks at her as she trails off and finds her eyes fixed on Simmons.

"Yeah," he agrees, smiling to himself. "When this is over."


	7. Methods

A/N: Inspired by a preview still from the upcoming episode.

And with this, I am done! No more post-2x18/2x19-speculation drabbles, I promise.

* * *

Grant's so distracted by Skye that he almost misses it.

She's been ranting at him pretty much non-stop since the mission started, and the four of them getting locked in this lab has only made it worse. He's not sure whether to be happy or annoyed; her constant harangue is beyond irritating, but the fact that it grates on him is proof of what he's suspected for a while now.

He really is over her.

This time last year, he's pretty sure he would've been incredibly attracted to her right now. He's always found her anger beautiful—there's so much passion in Skye, so much _everything_, and he used to find it compelling.

Now he mostly wishes she would shut up. It's a good sign.

The point is, he's distracted. By his relief at really being over her _and_ her ranting itself.

"Not to mention your _second_ kidnapping of me, which—in case you didn't know—led directly to pretty much _every horrible thing_ that's happened to me since San Juan," she's griping as she readjusts her tac vest.

He's about to point out that he actually has no idea what's happened to her since San Juan—Coulson was deliberately silent on the topic of Skye—when he suddenly realizes just how quiet the other side of the room is.

Simmons has been going through the lab's computers, reading through the available data on the experiments HYDRA is running on Gifteds, and she hasn't been quiet about it. Not to say that she's been loud, just that she's kept up a running narration under her breath—probably because she's so used to talking to Fitz while she works that she just can't help it.

But the narration has stopped, and it only takes a single glance across the room to figure out why.

Bakshi's left the corner he's been lingering in and is standing beside Simmons. She's frozen in place, holding on to the lab counter, fingers digging in like it's the only thing keeping her on her feet. And he's talking.

Grant's too far away to actually _hear_ Bakshi, but his lip-reading works just fine, and he makes out the phrase _what is best is you comply_ without any trouble.

Oh, fuck.

He promised Kara that she could kill Bakshi once they were done with him, so he doesn't kill the guy. He does, however, shoot him in the knee. Bakshi collapses with a shout, and Simmons gasps in a deep breath and stumbles away from him.

"What the _fuck_—" Skye starts, grabbing Grant's arm.

"Oh, no," Simmons says. "Oh—oh no. That's—he was—"

She's on the verge of hyperventilating, and while it's not _surprising_, it's also not helpful. He holsters his gun, shakes off Skye's hold, and crosses the room to grip Simmons by the shoulders.

"Simmons," he says. "Calm down."

He'd like to tell her to take a deep breath, but since that's the first sentence in the activation phrase, it would probably only upset her even more.

"Don't tell me to _calm down_," she snaps, voice high and hysterical. "He was trying to activate me! And it was _working_!" Her breathing is coming in quick gasps as she becomes increasingly panicked. "Which means, in case you don't realize, that I've been brainwashed! But I don't remember it—and what else don't I remember? Who _knows_ what might have happened that I've forgot? I could have—"

He doesn't know what makes him do it. Reflex, maybe? Kara spent a lot of time in the immediate aftermath of San Juan working herself up like this—going in spirals from what _had_ happened to what _might have _happened to what _should have_ happened, and so on—and he, recovering as he was from multiple gunshot wounds, was kind of limited in options for dealing with it.

There was one foolproof way to stop her, though, and it saw a lot of use.

So it's probably just habit that has him kissing Simmons.

As for what has her kissing him back…well. _That_, he's gonna have to give some thought.


End file.
